


Basilexia

by De Orakle (Delphi)



Series: Kinks [3]
Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Drunken Confessions, First Kiss, Kissing, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-10-12
Updated: 1999-10-12
Packaged: 2017-10-12 05:08:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/121127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delphi/pseuds/De%20Orakle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Baseoexia: - <i>kink.</i> arousal derived from kissing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Basilexia

"Nonononahnah, I'm just saying that was so...cool. I mean...I love being a cop!" Brian Cassidy bit down on his cheeks as hard as he could in a genuine attempt to curb the rising giggles of hysteria bubbling in his stomach. He didn't want his partner to give him that look again. That "Brian, Brian, Brian" look that said that he might leave soon. And that wouldn't do. That wouldn't do at all. "Uhmm...What was I saying?"

John glanced amusedly over at his partner, who had been moving steadily further and further away from sobriety for the past two hours. While John was a little tipsy himself, he wasn't having the all-absorbing inner conversations that were apparently consuming Brian's thoughts, judging from the lost, slightly puzzled look on the younger man's face.

Reclining on the opposite end of the couch from Brian, John stretched out his leg and nudged the other man's knee with his sock-clad foot.

No response.

He poked again.

Brian shook his head, certain he felt something come loose. Then, slipping out from his reverie, he turned to face his partner and then froze.

John was lying back against the corner of the couch, one arm thrown across the back, the other lying on the armrest. His jacket had been discarded two shots of whiskey ago, his shirt sleeves had been rolled up, and his tie and collar were loosened. Modest as it was, it was the most bare skin Brian had ever seen on his partner. John's head was tilted back, eyes fluttering closed, neck exposed, his legs slightly spread...

His body language was screaming quite inappropriate and blatant invitations to Brian's baser instincts.

"I'm sorry, what were we talking about?" Brian asked, shaking his head again.

"We were discussing the influence of Ancient Greek theatre on the Roman Empire. You had just made a stirring argument in defense of the _fabula togata_ genre over the _fabula palliata_ , which I believe you said was as derivative as Rocky V."

Brian smiled, eyebrows raised, eyes shining. He shook his head in self-deprecation.

"I'm pretty drunk, aren't I?"

"Got it in one," was the wry response.

"Oh. Sorry. But we don't have to work tomorrow, do we? It's just, I was excited. It was a big case, and we did pretty good, huh? Sorry if I got you drunk." Brian put on his most innocent smile, hoping that John wouldn't be mad.

John suppressed a groan. Seeing Brian sitting so close, leaning forward eagerly...sweet choirboy smile on alcohol-flushed fair skin... The temperature in the room suddenly shot up.

"Nah Brian, I haven't had that much to drink. Neither have you, as a matter of fact. You have a surprisingly low alcohol threshold for an Irishman."

Brian smiled brilliantly, then ducked his head. "Yeah, a bit of a disappointment to my dad. I don't usually drink this much. Gives me a tongue loose...a loose tongue. Sorry, don't want to seem like a wuss."

"I used to own a bar. You learn to be careful with knowing your limits."

"I never knew you owned a bar. In Baltimore?" Besides the occasional allusions to his ex-wife and traitorous fellow detective, John rarely mentioned his former home.

"Yup, the Waterfront. Owned it with two Homicide bunks named Lewis and Bayliss. George Washington took a leak there once."

Brian tried very hard to wrap his head around that last sentence but eventually had to concede defeat. He was filing the idea away for later when he realized that John was still speaking.

"...you remind me of him."

Brian was dumbfounded. "George Washington?"

John sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. After a pause, he answered in a sardonic tone which Brian, in his inebriated state, chose to construe as fond exasperation. "No Brian, wooden teeth aside, you do not remind me in the least of our founding father. I was referring to Tim Bayliss. My ex-partner."

A million and one questions ran through Brian's mind. All the things he'd never wanted an answer to danced to the tip of his tongue, then subsided. "What was he like?" he asked, softly spoken.

"He was a good kid. A good man."

Silence.

The "was" swirled through Brian's mind, and he weighed the consequences of that one little word. "Do you miss it? Baltimore, I mean."

John closed his eyes. Sighed. A thousand glib replies presented themselves to his lightning-quick wit, but looking at Brian's open, earnest face, he simply said, "No."

"Good. I mean, I know you're always saying you'll never go back, but, but you say things like that and...well, I'd really miss you."

John winced as he realized he had a sentimental drunk on his hands. "Yeah, well, don't worry, I'm not going anywhere," he said, hoping to defuse the situation before things got soppy.

A sniffle.

John squeezed shut his eyes.

Another sniffle, slightly louder.

John squeezed his eyes shut even tighter, then sighed and raised his head, sitting up. He opened his eyes to see Brian's face scant inches away from his own, eyes puffy and nose beginning to redden and run.

When Brian opened his mouth to speak, John's olfactory sense was assaulted by the strong scent of stale whiskey. "I mean it. You're the best partner in the world, and it's like you don't know it. You're so smart and experienced..." He dragged out the word like a savoured taste. "...and I bet there's so much more that you can teach me."

John tried to swallow through his constricted throat as his partner crept unsteadily forward on his knees until he was straddling John's left leg.

"Er...Brian," he protested, afraid to move, as Brian's knee was now a little too close to a very vulnerable area.

"Shhh...If, if I don't say this now, I'll lose my nerve and I can't remember why I kept losing my nerve before, 'cause I know we both want this, so I'm going to shut up now." And with that, he parted his lips and closed the distance between the two.

John screwed his eyes shut and felt the softest brush against his lips...then...

"Ow, fuck!"

John's eyes shot open to see Brian sitting back on his heels and clutching his left eye with both hands.

"Owww." Then a hoarse chuckle. "I poked my eye on your glasses."

He fought off nervous laughter. He was becoming all too accustomed to finding himself in situations running the gauntlet of absurdity.

While Brian rubbed his eye, John reached up to remove his glasses, then paused. A heated debate flashed through his mind. Taking off the glasses would mean acknowledging that he wanted Brian to kiss him...which would mean taking advantage of someone under the influence. But Brian was staring at him with that look, like a dog expecting to be kicked but hoping for a pat nonetheless, chewing his lower lip nervously. Oh, screw it. If Brian was all that drunk, then he probably wouldn't even remember this tomorrow... This made a ridiculous amount of sense to John's brain, and with that final decision, it gladly took the backseat to his libido.

He reached up, took hold of the younger man's shoulders, and tugged him forward until Brian's delicious weight was pushing him back into the sofa cushions. With no further hindrance, their lips met once more. It was a first kiss that could only be described as a first kiss. It was a little awkward, angled wrong, too much teeth, and a bumping of noses. Brian drew back, a dopey grin appearing on his face. The apartment was deafeningly silent until they both exhaled harshly.

John heard an incredibly undignified moan rise up in the back of his throat as those soft lips descended once more onto his. They took it slower this time, John slowly caressing Brian's lower lip with his tongue, then softly pressing until Brian acquiesced and parted his lips. Their tongues met, caressed, tickled, retreated. John slowly catalogued every part of Brian's hot mouth, slipping over the hard, sharp, teeth, the velvet-softness of an inside cheek, the taste of smoky-sweet alcohol. His tongue ran over the textured roof of his partner's mouth until Brian was twitching and swallowing so convulsively that John feared his tongue would be bitten.

Brian's mouth moved lower, leaving kisses and a damp trail down the skin of John's throat. The wet warmth of a kiss, then a chill where the wet skin met air; the pure sensation was raising gooseflesh on every square inch of John's body. Unfortunately, that was the only thing rising, and while alcohol had severely hampered John's's physiological reactions, Brian's was currently pressing against him, hard, hot, and insistent.

John threaded his hands through Brian's hair, digging his fingertips into his scalp, breaking up bits of styling junk. That sweet mouth was still nuzzling his neck, now with the sharp edge of teeth. Brian was whispering something between kisses, too soft to be heard, and his hips were starting up a slow slow rhythm against John's thigh.

The kisses and thrusts regulated, then slowed, slowed, until Brian was lying still atop him. His mouth was still attached to a spot left of John's adam's apple, sucking lazily. John slowed his own movements and let himself relish the comforting weight against him, the pulse of Brian's erection a perfect counterpoint to his own heartbeat.

They lay like that for minutes, John assuming that Brian was waiting to regain control over his body, but when Brian's lax body showed no sign of movement, concern started to edge away at his haze of lust.

He squeezed Brian's shoulder gently. "Brian, you still alive?"

He received a soft snore in return.

John squeezed a little harder.

A tiny whimper was his only reply before Brian burrowed his head into the crook of John's shoulder, sighed, and fell promptly back into unconsciousness. He wasn't sure how long he lay there with Brian's sleeping body resting comfortably against him. He stayed as still as possible until the crick in his neck from lying against the armrest became too unbearable. He glanced at the clock and made a face, then slowly, inch by inch, he eased his way out from under his partner's dead weight.

His knee popped loudly as he knelt and arranged Brian comfortably on his stomach in case he got sick during the night. He stayed there a moment, watching the sleeping form. He felt a pang of guilt at how young and innocent Brian looked. He felt a twinge of regret that the night's passings would probably never repeat themselves. He felt a rush of satisfaction knowing that it was damn well worth it.

He pressed a quick kiss onto the top of Brian's head, inhaling the smell of sour booze, apple-scented hair gel, and salty sweat. Standing, he picked up his glasses, cleaned them on his shirt, and put them on. Then he switched off the table lamp and quietly left, hoping that no one in this less-than-affluent neighbourhood had messed with his car.


End file.
